Dambo

Dambo.

I want to be a gangly recycle artist like Dambo,

the builder of wooden trolls.

Instead of discarded furniture, I use discarded poems,

snippets I’ve copied down in my commonplace books,

bits and pieces on suffering coz I know what’s that like now.

All the best poems have been written, Daz says.

He’s the one who wrote ‘The Parable of the Albino Pigeon’

so I listen.

“About suffering they were never wrong the Old Masters’,

says Auden, and I added:

while someone is bringing in the bins, watching ‘Bullet Train’

on Binge, or cleaning the car of dogs’ fur like my neighbour

who asks, Hey Bro, how’s it hanging? Do I even want to answer that?

‘This seeing the sick endears them to us, us too it endears’

says Hopkins in ‘Felix Randall’

who taught me empathy;

and those lines from Mary Oliver;

‘Someone I once loved

gave me a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand

that this too was a gift’.

You can’t better that, Daz would say.

So is cancer a gift?

Anyhow I want to build my wooden trolls of poems

coz like Daz says, the best poems have all been written.

pic courtesy of pinterest

A New Path to Enlightenment


Matt has been hired by a plumbing company to sell toilets.  His old man who works for the same company got him the job. What could Matt do but accept? He was good at nothing else.
Larry, a hotshot salesman goes out with him one day and lays it on the line: “I don’t tolerate laziness. It’s a form of treason,” he says.
Matt says it’s not his fault he’s not pulling in big figures. He has no sales experience and no one is willing to train him.
Larry shoots back, “Baptism by fire.”
But Matt whines and says it’s been over a year and he still has no idea what he’s doing.
Then Larry comes back with this: “Your job is to go out there every day and get your face kicked in. It’s the only path to Enlightenment.”



 I don’t know if Larry and the Buddha were talking about the same kind of Enlightenment and if they were would the Buddha have agreed with Larry’s method?
Is Larry right? Or can’t you find Enlightenment through the toilet trade?
Are some trades/professions more inimical to Enlightenment than others? Can a politician find Enlightenment? would it help him in his job?
 

Even Jesus

Perhaps the stars weren’t aligned.

Perhaps it’s in the DNA.

Either way the reboot sags,

flaccid as a spent condom.

It walks around the ABC studio

with its hands clasped behind its back,

that gesture of defeat,

It is laboured, lassitudinous, much in need

of a cattle prod up the ass, as my old

friend, twelve years in, would say.

A bit severe perhaps.

It’s lost its zest, its zing,

It’s dead on its feet.

Even Jesus couldn’t resuscitate it.

You Scare Me

You scare me.

What did you do wrong?

Once you were the envy

of bloggers like me

hungry for numbers.

Okay, I was competitive

but every entertainer

wants an audience, Right?

And you were the king of numbers.

Then what happened?

You must have been dismayed

as I was shocked.

What does one do to shed an audience?

Put up politically incorrect posts?

Bite the hands that feed you?

Change lanes too often?

Stay in the same lane too long?

Veer off into obscurity?

What?

There is an art to alienation

& you seem to have found it.

I just hope I don’t stumble across it

anytime soon.

You scare me.





*what scares you?

*have you written a short poem about fear you’d like to share here?





*pic by hermes-rivera from Unsplash

I Once Played Godot

I once played Godot in a high school play.

It was my big moment. My first step to stage stardom.

After all, I’d be playing the main character, the one the play’s named after.

-Where are my lines? I say.

-You have none, I am told.

I grow suspicious.

I once played a tree in a Xmas play.

-No Lines?

-You wait in the wings. You’ll get the hang of it.

It sounded dubious but I hadn’t been picked for anything all year.

-I’ll give it a go, I say.





          On the night I am a little nervous. I peep at the audience, the anticipation on their faces. I hope I perform well.

          The curtain goes up.

          I keep waiting for my cue to come in.

          The play keeps going and going.

          By intermission I still haven’t been called.

          -When do I go on?

          -You don’t. You’re the guy they’re waiting for.

          -Then why don’t I go on?

          -If you did, there wouldn’t be a play.

It seemed a pretty flimsy premise to hang a play on, but who was I to argue? My big moment would have to wait.

66 Days

It took 66 days for Bobby Sands to starve himself to death.

It took me many years to starve my mind of the fear of public speaking

& though I have come a long way & people praise my confidence

it is still a work-in-progress

  • what fears have you overcome either partially or fully?
  • mural in Belfast courtesy of Wiki Commons

Forklift Driver

I don’t want to be a forklift driver

the rest of my life

the 23 year-old from Perth said

just before he came on stage

and belted out

‘I Need You Tonight’ by INXS

only as good as Michael Hutchens

and he looked good,

strong, strapping with brown tumbling curls

& a sinuous, sexy voice

which filled the hall and lifted the coaches

& crowd

like a forklift driver

*pic courtesy of Wiki Commons

Red

799px-Miami_traffic_jam,_I-95_North_rush_hour

the prompt was to choose a color and make a three-line poem out of it:

 

There’s a traffic jam inside my head

thoughts blaring to be said

but the traffic light’s stuck on red

 

* can you choose a color and write a three-line poem, perhaps a haiku, on that color? have a go; post your poem in the comments section